The Space Between
by Tallera
Summary: Sequel to "Little Earthquakes." My take on Buffy and Spike dealing with the ramifications of their "show-stopping number."
1. Part 1

Author's Note: This was my first foray into Buffy fanfic writing, so be tolerant. Also, consider yourself warned—if you're not a fan of Buffy/Spike friendship and potential for future 'shippiness, you might want to read something else…

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For the first instant after Buffy opened her eyes, the world seemed just as it should be. Mid-morning sunlight was sneaking between the tilted blinds, and her arm was curled around one of her many favorite stuffed animals. Feeling remarkably well-rested—_been a while since that happened…almost forgot how it feels_—she stretched slowly.

Then she remembered. The soft-shoe demon, the singing, the dancing, the weirdness, and…

…yeah. _That_.

Suddenly, the morning didn't look quite as perfect as it had a moment ago.

__

What was I thinking?!? she berated herself. _What in the world possessed me to go and kiss *Spike*, of all people?!?!? I mean, OK, so it's understandable that I'm doing a little of the emotional wacky right now…but still…!_

It was all that damned demon's fault—that…Lord of the Dance guy. _We never did stop to get his name…_ It had been a tough couple of months, but she was beginning to think that she was on her way (slowly) to something more resembling 'normal'…but then Xander just _had_ to summon that stupid demon. As she had watched all of her friends sing and dance about their optimism and their loves and their inane little problems, she had realized that she and 'normal' weren't even in the same area code yet.

It was Spike's song that had done it, of course. Hearing about the musical escapades of the others in the group was bad enough, but then…

__

Ever since I came back, they've all been treating me like I'm made of glass—like, "oh, careful, don't get Buffy upset, she might break!" Spike was the only remotely 'normal' one…but he's usually so closed-off anyway, it's almost the same… But then the Lord of the Dance came to town, and all the emotions that her friends had been bottling up for so long, out of respect for Buffy's own emotional fragility, had come gushing to the surface.

And suddenly, Buffy realized—_remembered?_—that it _wasn't_ 'normal' to feel numb all the time.

__

'Normal'…I'm starting to hate that word…

Even poor Spike, who shouldn't be _capable_ of true emotion, had gone all sentimental on her. And damn it all, she'd even felt sorry for him! Listening to him sing about how much it hurt to be around her, knowing she thought so little of him…for a moment, as he sang, she almost didn't notice that she was actually feeling a twinge of regret for treating him so thoughtlessly.

Then it hit her.

She actually felt regret for treating Spike like—well, like a vampire.

She _felt_ regret!

It was like a knife had been suddenly slipped between her ribs and into her gut…cruelly twisting…wetly shredding her newly-reclaimed soul until it screamed and begged for a return to the cool darkness of death. She hadn't felt an honest emotion for so long, so long…

She had fought that rising tide of feeling. _No…will not feel…I will NOT feel…if I can't feel, I can't hurt, and if I can't hurt, maybe I'll be able to survive until the next demon comes along, and I have a chance to die again…_ But as she sprawled on top of the peroxide-blond vampire in that empty grave, her feeling would not be denied. Waves of empathy and regret rose within her, crashing upon the rocky shores of numbness and apathy…and wearing away at them.

Buffy couldn't handle it—those ragged stone barricades in her heart were the only defenses she had left against a cold, harsh world that demanded far too much and gave far too little in return. So she ran—from Spike and his pain (_my fault…my fault_), from the feelings foaming up in her throat (_god, I'm drowning_), from the fear of breaking into tears in front of the mortal enemy who loved her and apologizing for the emotion she wasn't capable of returning.

Even now, she couldn't say for sure if she had fled from the anguished demon gazing into her eyes, or the one gazing out of them.

Buffy clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, forcibly shutting down the maudlin train of thoughts threatening to derail in her brain. _Stop it…STOP it! Don't think…don't go there, girl, you don't want to find out what's waiting at the end of that road…_

Damn him! Damn that unnatural hair, those eyes that saw straight through to the things she tried to hide, that voice that said _I love you_ even when those weren't the words she heard…DAMN him!!! She had tried, last night…tried so hard to give in to the dance (_I can feel it, Slayer—you know you want to dance_), to let the fire consume her…a one-way ticket back to dim, silent eternity.

Of course, _he_ wouldn't let her.

Giles, Willow, Xander…they all just stood, looking on in shock…none of them knew how to answer her plea; they could give her nothing "to sing about" that would make up for the bliss they had stolen from her. Only Spike had stepped forward, with the one response she didn't want to hear…the only response that would save her.

__

The pain that you feel, you only can heal by living…you have to go on living…

Just like that, he'd snatched away the one thought that had brought her any comfort: the thought of ending it all again.

__

DAMN HIM!!!!

She'd been desperate…_if I can't die, then I've got to live…but I can't live if I can't feel…_

So what had she done? Gone running to the one person who was "safe," the one person who would always forgive her for using him…the one person who had proven he could stir her emotions—hatred, frustration, homicidal mania…

And she'd kissed him.

And _*damn_,_*_ had she kissed him!

She tried excusing it as a noble act, or at the very least, a momentary lapse in judgement…gratitude for him saving her life, mixed with a bit of guilt for treating him so callously in the past…?

But none of that was true. She'd kissed him, not to demonstrate any kind of affection, but in one last, desperate attempt to prove to herself that there was still passion within her to be tapped…like a miner digging frantically to scrape the last shavings of precious gold from a sterile mine.

She ought to have felt triumph. After all, that had been a *_hell_* of a kiss, and she had felt it resonate all the way from the tips of her hairs to her toenails…and everywhere in between. But even as she surrendered to the skill of his lips and tongue, those fragile, hesitant emotions turned traitor on her, just as she had known they would. The passion fired by the feel of his mouth on hers translated itself into a kind of hollow grief, anticipating the heart-rending pain this one kiss would cause later. He would never understand…once again, he would start asking more from her than she was able to give…

But then she'd pulled away, breathing heavily and quivering all over with a combination of guilt and arousal, and seen the look in his eyes…

He _did_ understand.

It was as if his thoughts were being scribed onto the surface of those blue, blue eyes, glowing darkly there for her to read. Spike knew, even as he lost himself in the wonder and heat of her mouth, that she was not kissing _him_—not really. She was just using him again. And later, he would be mad and hate her for it (_for a while_), but for now…well, for now he was living in a memory so new that the ink was not yet dry. And that memory would keep him warm for many long, cold nights to come.

She read in those eyes all his desire and love, but more than that, his resignation that all memories must end before they can be treasured, and that some dreams are never meant to be attained.

She had cried, then, and he had held her, wrapping her in a blanket of love and comfort. _Strange, how his embrace can warm me, when he's really so cold…_

When her tears finally ran dry, they hadn't spoken a word. He had just tucked her shoulders under one lanky arm and began walking her toward home. She followed obediently, too drained to fight the gentle pressure of his arm. After a block or two, she allowed her throbbing head to rest lightly on his shoulder.

Buffy didn't remember entering the house; she had been asleep on her feet. There was only the vaguest memory of being carried up the stairs and tucked into her bed fully clothed—although he did pause to remove her shoes.

She clearly remembered what she had done next.

As he brought the blankets up to her chin, she grabbed his wrist. "Spike…" He'd looked at her in surprise, for her voice was unslurred by sleep. "Spike, I'm so sorry…really, I never wanted to hurt you. I wish…" She had paused, intimidated by the tender amazement written across his face.

"I wish I was able to be what you want me to be…feel what you want me to feel, but…I can't, Spike, I just can't…it's not there…" she cried softly. _Just when I thought I had no tears left…_

If her eyes had been open, she would have seen a single spark of hot, dreadful hope in Spike's eyes…a spark quickly snuffed by a splash of cold fear. Working hard to convince himself that she was just reacting to her own overwrought emotions, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Not your fault, luv," he said quietly. He started to say more, but thought better of it. "Sleep well, ducks—the world'll wait until morning." And he had left.

She had fallen asleep with the memory of that soft kiss tingling on the skin of her forehead…and if she dreamed, she did not remember it.

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	2. Part 2

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"Come _on_, Buffy!" Willow complained, as she watched her best friend try on the fifth outfit of the last half-hour. "You _know_ you'll look great, no matter what you wear!"

__

How do you explain to a witch who happens to be your best friend that this is the night you've decided to officially begin rejoining the human (or at least mostly-human) race, and that such an occasion calls for a very special ensemble? Buffy caught herself almost-smiling at her own whimsy, and squelched it immediately. _No smiles yet. One step at a time._

Willow, who was still speaking, fidgeted slightly. "I sort of want to get there early, so I can talk to the band…"

Buffy turned to look at the red-headed witch, who plucked nervously at the blanket on Buffy's bed and refused to meet her eyes. _Frowning is okay. It's not really a smile upside down—it uses a whole different set of muscles._ "Something's wrong," Buffy stated flatly.

Willow sighed and buried her face in her hands at the non-question. "Tara won't speak to me, and I don't know why," she admitted miserably. "I mean, yesterday everything seemed so perfect! What happened?"

For the first time in months, Buffy felt like she could take part in a real conversation without feeling emotionally out of her depth. "Why not just ask her?"

Willow chuckled humorlessly. "Believe me, I've tried! Whenever I try to talk to her, she walks away, or acts all hurt and ignores me…" Pain flitted across her narrow features. "I thought maybe I could get the band to play a song she really likes, and I could do this spell…"

Buffy frowned again. "OK, some of my old memories are still a little fuzzy, but…did you used to use spells so often?"

Willow looked slightly hurt. "Oh, not you, too—! I mean, I'm a _witch_, Buffy—everybody's acting like I'm just supposed to sit on my hands and pretend that magic doesn't exist!" Willow sounded increasingly frustrated and indignant at this perceived injustice. "If I have the power to do all these things, _why shouldn't I?!?_"

Buffy's eyes went wide at the harsh note in her friend's voice. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You sound like Faith…"

When Willow looked at her angrily, Buffy went on quickly. "No, Willow, I don't want to argue with you. Tonight is supposed to be for going to the Bronze and figuring out how to have some real-life, honest-to-goodness fun again."

Buffy paused for a moment as Willow reluctantly agreed…though there was still something in the witch's eyes that the blonde girl didn't like. Something…reckless. "But…will you just promise me that you'll think about something for me?"

"Okay…" Willow replied warily.

Buffy took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing…_ "If it takes a spell to keep Tara with you, you need to ask yourself exactly what you want from her. A spell will only give you the semblance of love…like that time Spike and I were engaged. No matter how right it seemed at the time, it was _so_ very wrong…" She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "You need to ask yourself whether you love Tara for _who_ she is, or for _what _she is to you…"

Buffy stopped then—her advice was starting to resonate a bit too much with a few of her own problems, and tonight was about forgetting problems and having fun. "C'mon, I think this outfit will do," she continued quickly, slipping on a pair of small, dangly silver earrings shaped like stakes. They had been a birthday present from Xander several years ago. The Slayer had finally settled on her normal black leather pants, paired with a sky-blue silk shirt with a scooping neckline that clung to her chest, but hung loose and almost cape-like from her shoulder blades. It was one of her favorite shirts; two wide strips of fabric hung freely down either side of her back and tended to flutter as she moved, making her feel as if she had wings.

Buffy grabbed the hand of a still-pensive Willow, dragging her off the bed, down the stairs and out of the house, impatient to discover what this night had in store for her.

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He watched the two girls walk quickly past the blot of shadow in which he crouched, half-wanting Buffy to sense him, and half-terrified of what would occur if she did.

She was a vision in black and blue. _Time was, the Big Bad would've had a bit more to say about the Slayer being black and blue…bugger, have I gone soft…_ But the disgust in his mental voice was no longer nearly as convincing as it once had been.

He couldn't help but notice the difference one short day had made in her demeanor. There she was, giggling with Red, dressed to kill and on her way to their favorite club for a night of fun…just as if she hadn't been morbidly relishing the thought of a fiery death, this same time yesterday.

Spike would have liked to think that he had had something to do with that transformation, but such thoughts lit the well-trodden path down into his own personal pit of self-delusion and—eventually—madness. He had no doubt that if he could not find some way to come to grips with his feelings for this wisp of a girl, his desires would sooner or later leave him as batty as his previous flame. _Crazy for you, Slayer… Hell, even Dru was never that cracked._

Keeping to only the blackest of the shadows, Spike followed the two girls toward the Bronze.

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	3. Part 3

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Buffy stared into her drink and sighed. The evening was, to her amazement, turning out to be a lot more fun than she'd expected. She ruthlessly forced down the mental tendril of panic that surfaced at the thought of enjoying herself. All of her friends were here—well, except Giles, but seeing him here would have completely wigged her out, anyway, since he was supposed to be watching Dawn—and it was almost (_almost_) like old times again. They clustered around a too-small table and yelled to be heard over the hard, metallic throb of the music. She had even danced—not as much as she once might have, but she joined in when the whole group got funky to their favorite songs, and even accepted the offer of a slow dance with Xander. Now she sat at the table by herself. Willow and Tara had gone off to talk, and Anya and Xander were lip-locked on the far side of the dance floor. Strangely, she didn't feel alone, just…quiet.

"Feel like company?"

__

Funny, Buffy thought, _I'm not surprised to find him here. It's almost like I was waiting for him to show up…_ With a half-smile, she turned to look up at Spike, who was standing a few feet away.

He continued with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "Because if you'd rather, I can go…" He looked in her eyes, and wondered if she, too, was remembering the last time he'd approached her in the Bronze, in the days before Dru's short-lived return to Sunnydale…before he'd told her how he felt. _Satan knows, I don't want to mess up like *that* again…_

His dead heart actually fluttered slightly as she silently waving a graceful hand at the chair across the table from her. Sliding into the indicated seat, he measured her expression. _It wasn't just wishful thinking,_ he realized. _She really does look different tonight, more…more whole, somehow._ "So, how's the Little Bit?" he asked—not just for something to say, but because he truly found himself wanting to know. "Holding up alright after last night's… production?"

She nodded, her lips almost quirking into a snatch of a smile at his choice of words. "She's fine. Just another ho-hum kind of day for the entourage of the Chosen One, I suppose…" She broke off, staring self-consciously into her drink so she wouldn't have to look into his eyes…those eyes where he wrote everything he couldn't say, everything she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Spike took a breath. _We know each other so well…she knows what's coming next._ The words came easily to his lips, as if scripted. "And…you?"

__

I knew that was coming. Buffy also knew that this time, with this vampire, she couldn't just blow the question of with the ease of 'oh, I'm fine,' as she so often did. For what he'd done for her last night alone, he deserved better from her. And he had saved her so many times before last night…

She sighed. "Believe it or not, I actually think I'm a lot better," she said reflectively. "I feel like—like I'm floating in limbo, I guess…but since I used to think I was in hell, I suppose that's an improvement." She shot him a sly look that held the barest scrap of her old fire. "Just, y'know, trying to do that whole 'go-on-living' thing."

Spike had the grace to look rather embarrassed at the reminder of his musical 'role' of the night before. He glanced across the dance floor. _It was right there,_ he realized. _Right in that spot, I grabbed her and made her hear me, forced her to step back from the edge…_ He strained to suppress a shudder at the memory of just how close to that precipice she had been.

Buffy watched him remember, and found herself unexpectedly overwhelmed with compassion for this beautiful, soulless creature who could love her so selflessly—a gift she had so far repaid with little more than poorly-concealed loathing. Impulsively, she rose to her feet and held out her hand to him.

"C'mon, you wanna dance?"

His bleached head snapped up so fast that she wondered idly if he'd sprained something. He had an expression of such utter mystification on his face, she couldn't help but smile. _Oh, no…was that a real smile? Damn…_

"Nice, safe dancing, I promise. No fire, no smoke. Just…a 'thank you.'" She continued to watch him—all the while trying and failing to force the smirk off of her face—as his expression shifted from shock through bemusement, wonder and sheer joy, before finally settling into a small smile so warm and tender that it nearly took her breath away. Without another word, he stood, took her hand, and led her out onto the dance floor, just as the band finished up their piece with a crash of electric riffs and percussion.

Spike led her unwaveringly to the precise spot on the dance floor where he had stopped her mad spinning the night before. Just as he turned to face her, the band began a new tune, a cover of a currently popular song—not really a slow song, but a far cry from the earlier head-banging clamor.

The music began gently, and the vampire couldn't decide whether to cheer or cringe. _Why did it have to be *this* song?_ he silently implored the universe. _Damn, how many times have I sat and listened to this, feeling every word echo in my hollow bones…if any couple who aren't really a couple can have a song that's 'theirs,' this one's 'ours'…_

As the first strummed chords began to die, and the first of the lyrics rolled off the singer's tongue, the vampire and the Slayer stepped into each others' arms and began to move.

__

You cannot quit me so quickly…

Is there no hope in you for me?

No corner you could squeeze me?

But I've got all the time for you, luv…

The space between

The tears we cry,

Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more.

The space between

The wicked lies we tell,

And hope to keep safe from the pain…

If she had permitted herself to entertain such thoughts, Buffy would have marveled at how well Spike could move on the dance floor. Granted, they were just sort of swaying, but they were so in synch with each other, it was as if they'd been born dancing. With each other. The touch of his cool hands on her waist made her shiver slightly.

"Sorry, luv," he said quietly, referring to the chill of his hands on her skin.

She smiled slightly, shaking her head. "Don't be. Cold hands, warm heart, right?" She said with a glimmer in her eye. Flustered by her own boldness, she looked down and continued, "Anyway, it's part of the whole 'vamp thing.' It's who you are, Spike—don't apologize for that."

__

These fickle, fuddled words confuse me,

Like, 'will it rain today?'

We waste the hours with talking, talking,

These twisted games we're playing…

Almost against her will, Buffy found her eyes drawn to Spike's once again. He was watching her with an expression of wonder, as if he fully expected—and dreaded—that she might evaporate into smoke in his arms. It was disturbing…and more than a little flattering. She kept having to remind herself that he was a vampire. _Remember—drinks blood, roasts in sunlight, and *wants you dead*?? Well…*used* to want you dead. Now, just wants you…_

It was so much easier to be with Spike when she allowed herself to forget his true nature…after all, he didn't _act_ like a demon—most of the time. And at times like right now, when he looked at her with those damned expressive eyes overflowing with all the things his undead heart couldn't contain…he felt more human to her than she herself did.

__

We're strange allies,

With warring hearts;

What a wild-eyed beast you be!

The space between

The wicked lies we tell,

And hope to keep us safe from the pain…

For now…well, she was willing to overlook the whole 'vamp thing' (_at least until this song is over_). She had been maintaining a rather careful volume of space between them as they danced; now, she gave up and surrendered to the comfort she knew she would feel (_feel!_) in his embrace. She slid her arms all the way around his neck to brush the fine, stiff hairs there, and stepped into him, leaning her head on his shoulder. His arms moved without conscious thought, wrapping themselves gently around her. The space between them shrank to a hands-breadth of semi-dark.

__

Look at us, spinning out in the madness of a roller coaster;

You know you went off like the devil a in church,

In the middle of a crowded room.

All we can do, my luv,

Is hope we don't take this ship down…

For his part, the blond demon was enjoying a moment of exquisite rapture. _Good thing I don't need to breathe, or I'd be in real trouble…_ As had happened during the kiss he and Buffy had shared the night before, a rather gleefully malicious voice in the back of his mind (_why does that sound like Dru?_) reminded him incessantly that this moment of bliss would soon end (_never to return_)—while most of the other voices in his head clamored for the lone voice to _shut-the-hell-up!_ so they could all enjoy the moment, for as long as it chose to last.

__

The space between

Where you smile and hide,

Is where you'll find me, if I hear you call

The space between

The bullets in our fire-fight

Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you.

Spike could feel the words of this song (_our song_) resonate with an almost-physical vibration in his silent heart. He pulled away from her slightly so he could look her in the eye. Part of him screamed, _No, no, don't ruin the moment—!_, but there might never be another opportunity to say the words that pounded behind his eyeballs, demanding to escape into the free air.

"Buffy?" He could feel her tense slightly in his arms…she didn't know what to expect from him. _She doesn't know what's coming? That's a first…_

"Yeah?"

"Could I ask a favor?"

He watched the wheels spin as she thought that one over for a split second. "You can always ask…the worst I can do is say 'no,'" she replied seriously.

He had to grin a bit at that. _Still doesn't *quite* trust me…_ he mused. S_mart girl._

She was looking at him expectantly. He took a deep, unnecessary breath. "I just wanted to ask…please, don't…don't ever scare me again, the way you did last night?"

Her mouth opened just a bit, as if she wanted to reply, but didn't know what to say. He continued in a rush. "When I came in here last night, and saw you dancing in the smoke…all I could think was that you were going to die—_again_—and I wouldn't have been quick enough to stop it—_again_. The last time nearly killed me…if I hadn't promised you I'd look after the Nibblet, I probably would have just waited for the sunrise…"

Buffy felt a pang of…what? _Guilt? Pleasure? Panic?_ "Spike, no—you couldn't…"

He gazed at her with bleak eyes. "I would have. And then last night, it haunted me, the idea that you might die, and the last thing I would have said was that I hoped you'd burn…" He had to stop and close his eyes to keep his voice from breaking. Moisture prickled insistently at the backs of his eyelids.

__

The rain that falls

Splashed in your heart,

Ran like sadness down the window into your room.

The space between

Our wicked lies

Is where we hope to keep safe from pain.

Is he crying? Ohmigod…he's really crying! Or, well…almost. Buffy was stunned. With each surprising new glimpse she got of Spike, she realized more and more that he _did_ really care for her…and each time she tried to shrug that off, she came smack up against the uncomfortable fact that it _mattered_. If he honestly meant nothing to her, why would his feelings about her matter? It was almost too much to wrap her tired mind around, but obviously she…cared. About him. _As a friend, of course—nothing more_, she reminded herself defensively.

But in this moment, all she knew for certain was that her…friend…was in pain, and it was because of her. She reached up and touched his cool cheek with her fingertips. "Spike, please…look at me."

Unwillingly, he opened his eyes. She could see her own face reflected in his dark pupils, now too-shiny with the grief he couldn't voice. "I knew you didn't mean it, what you said—you were just angry. And I was too hurt by what Giles said…I just lashed out, and you didn't deserve it." She paused for an uncertain breath. "I may regret saying this later, but…it means a lot to me that I can always depend on you to watch my back," she admitted ruefully.

__

Take my hand,

'Cause we're walking out of here,

Right out of here.

Love is all we need, dear…

Spike had to close his eyes again. This was torture. Utterly precious and exquisite torture.

"I don't want to ruin the moment, pet, but…I need to know…" He tried to put words to what his heart yearned to know, words that wouldn't frighten her away once more. "I need to know what inspired this sudden about-face," he finally continued, striving for his usual matter-of-fact tone. "You despise me. You've said so—on several occasions. Then last night…and now this…" he trailed off uncertainly. Finally he gave up and just said, "Please, tell me what you're thinking, because I don't know _what_ to think."

__

Well, nothing if not blunt… Buffy took a deep breath (_I seem to do that a lot, around him_) and took her turn at trying to explain the inexplicable twists and turns of her heart. "I keep going around in circles. Sometimes it feels like you're the only thing in my life that I can count on to never change, and then suddenly it seems like you're changing so fast, I can't keep up with you." She dropped her eyes from his. "I know that the…well, you know…last night wasn't…it didn't happen for the right reasons. And when that occurred to me, I realized that I…I haven't been fair to you, in any of the ways that matter."

She paused, uncertain. _This is getting way serious… tonight was supposed to be fun and non-thinkingness, remember?_ Recklessly, she plunged on. "And I felt so guilty about that…but then I felt guilty about feeling guilty, because after all, you _have_ tried to kill me quite a few times, but I know you've changed since then, which is good, because there are enough things always trying to kill me, and it's a lot less likely that one of them will succeed when you're helping _me_ instead of helping _them_, and…"

Spike burst out in delighted laughter at her babbling. _She's sounding more and more like her old self…bloody good to hear!_

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips, but she refused to let it out. "Shut up—I'm trying to explain, here!" She swatted him on the chest, and tried to resume her train of thought when he'd quieted, but the train had pulled out of the station without her. _Damn._ She was left with nothing to fall back on…but the truth.

"Spike, I don't want to lead you on. I don't love you…" She couldn't look at him…she knew that his disappointment would be all-too-plain for her to read in his eyes. But she wasn't finished.

"…but, as much as I've tried to deny it, I'm beginning to realize that I _do_ care." Now she did look up at him, just in time to watch the pain grow dim, washed away in a cascading wave of hope and delight. She couldn't help but grin in response. Then she closed the space between them again to rest her head once more on his shoulder.

"I don't know what—if anything—comes next, Spike," she admitted quietly. "But for now, I think…I think you're the best friend I've got."

__

The space between

What's wrong and right,

Is where you'll find me hiding,

Waiting for you.

If a vampire's heart suddenly started beating, Spike wondered, _would that constitute a heart attack?_ He was quite certain that his own cool heart had just skipped several un-beats. He tilted his own head to rest against hers, and closed his eyes against the joy that flooded him. _Best friend…_ "I could say the same for you, pet," he replied in a low voice.

True, it wasn't quite the declaration of undying love (_literally?—she does have trouble staying dead…_) that he ached to hear, but it was more than he ever thought he'd get…and it was enough to spark a burning hope that, with patience, more might follow. William the Bloody had won the friendship and trust of the Slayer…and for now, it was enough. The space between them dwindled, and finally evaporated completely as they held each other close, taking comfort in their newfound bond.

__

The space between

Your heart and mine,

Is the space we'll fill with time.

The space between…

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Please review!!!! Like all other fanfic authors, I live for feedback!!!!! : )


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